


A Series of Questions

by stephenssupreme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Trans Male Character, mlm author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephenssupreme/pseuds/stephenssupreme
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a Trans Man and due to a sudden escalation of events he feels the need to tell John. It's a new experience for the both of them.// warnings: may contain gender dysphoria, slurs, mature content (will update this as new chapters get posted)





	1. Question one

Morning routine; finished. Medication hidden away. A shirt worn that accentuates his broad shoulders and solid chest; done. Sherlock Holmes was ready for the day. There was just ONE thing that was different that morning, though. . . John had kissed him the previous night. It was a beautiful moment, it truly was. It was the most fulfilling feeling in the world, well, up until John tried to progress things further that was. If he had continued touching up Sherlock’s chest, that would have been fine but as soon as one of his hands had slid down to his thigh Sherlock had to pull away. It wasn't that he didn’t feel comfortable with sex – sex was not the off putting subject. It was the fact that he didn't want to shock or disgust John, not without having the chance to explain things. In a moment of panic, Sherlock had disappeared off into his bedroom without another word.

  


Either way, this morning he pushed all those thoughts to the back of his mind and ventured into the living room to see John already sat in there, a newspaper folded on his lap; he must have read the sports articles and chose to leave the rest until later, he usually did that.  
  
“Morning.” A small comment, yes, but it wasn't complete silence from John so that was good, right?  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Sorry, morning. My head is a little…”  
  
John was quick to finish of the sentence for Sherlock to avoid any awkwardness. “I know what you mean. Tea?”  
  
“Tea sounds great.” That was the end of that quick conversation. Feeling ever so slightly out of place, Sherlock sat down, arms resting either side of his chair, fingers lightly tapping against the leather material.

  


Silence overwhelmed the pair again, John sighing as he pushed himself out of his armchair, tiredly walking off into the kitchen to put the kettle on, boiling water as he got everything else for the tea ready. No. He needed to abandon the operation and storm back into the living room, his hand clamping down on the back of his own chair.

“Did I do something wrong last night? I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you were giving off all the signs. Fuck, you even kissed me as if you had kissed me countless times before!”

“You did nothing wrong, I—”

“Then why did you push me away?” Gosh, the man sounded so wounded, his voice almost cracking.

“If you'd just let me explain, John. If you just LISTENED for a few minutes. I mean it. No balloon with a face scratched onto it, no walking away back into the kitchen. I need you to hear every word of what I'm about to tell you.” That was just met by the roll of John’s eyes, however, to Sherlock’s relief the other man gave in and circled round the front of his chair, sitting down with one leg crossed over the other. He was ready to listen.

  


“John… I’m a transgender man.” Sherlock let out a breath so large that you would have thought he had been holding onto it for years. Saying this aloud to John was a weight off his shoulders, yes, but it also opened up so many questions, brought up so many problems—

 “Okay.”

 Sherlock was completely caught off guard. Part of him expected John to interrupt but to interrupt with ‘okay’? It confused him immensely. “But—. What? No. Don’t say anything yet. I mean, I obviously want to ask ‘why’ but please, just let me finish.” Respectfully, John just nodded, allowing Sherlock to finish off his own, personal explanation.

 “I didn’t tell you any sooner because you didn’t need to know. I am man. You know me as a man. That is the simplicty of it. I didn’t need you knowing that I was transgender because you treated me just the way I wanted to be treated - as myself. As Sherlock Holmes. My body was no concern of yours. That was until last night.” It hit hard how ashamed he was of running away from the situation, both of his trembling hands reaching up to rub his face, lingering like that for a few moments before dropping them away, ready to continue. “I have transitioned to male; I take hormones and I’ve had surgery on my chest but I haven’t had any surgery done on my bottom half. I am fine with that. It was my choice and I am comfortable with my body. I just… I didn’t want it to be a shock for you since you were probably expecting to find something else in my trousers. Sex is okay. I’ve had sex before as a man and I like it. Just thought I needed to add that last bit on.” Fiddling with his fingers, Sherlock glanced down, muttering, “okay, you can speak now.”

  


It was a lot to take in and of course John had questions but the first words that came out of his mouth were, “it must have been difficult to tell me that, Sherlock - I can’t say I understand what you’ve been through, obviously I can’t… I’m just glad you’ve felt comfortable enough to tell me.” He sniffed, nose crinkling up as he considered his next words wisely. He was trying to be respectful but there was still anger in him about this whole situation. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when you pushed me away though. I thought you didn’t want me. Who knows how things would have gone if we continued but what I _do_ know is that I regret none of it. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to kiss you like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

John could tell how scared and secluded Sherlock’s voice sounded; he had never heard him like this before. “Apology accepted.”

“So…”

“So?”

“Don’t you have any questions? Most people have questions. Especially you, John. You’re always the first to question things.”

“Of course I have questions.” John uncrossed his legs and stood up, wandering over to Sherlock, stood about two steps back from him. “But I think I’m going to limit myself to one question a day. I don’t want to bombard you and I know you like structure.” The worried look on Sherlock’s face began to fade, a soft smile starting to replace that. John’s plan sounded like a fair one and one that Sherlock would happily go along with.

“Okay, what is today’s question?”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, John looked up briefly before glancing down at Sherlock with a thin lipped smile, “can I still kiss you?”

Of course he could. Sherlock didn’t even need to answer that; nothing had changed emotionally and god, he had been dreaming about that kiss all night. Rising from his chair Sherlock simply gave his flatmate a knowing look - a look that John could instantly recognise as a permission to do as he liked. Reaching one hand up behind Sherlock’s neck, he guided the man down enough so that all he had to do was lift his own face in order to kiss those beautiful, pink lips once again. As satisfying as the act was, both men knew there would be more serious questions and bigger things to resolve in the days to come.


	2. Question two

“It was the manager,” Sherlock commented bluntly, sparing a small look towards Lestrade before he crouched back down by the deceased victim. Mutilation wasn’t the type of murder Sherlock ‘enjoyed’ - it always seemed so messy and pointless. How did he know it was the manager, though? Oh don’t worry, he spent over five minutes trying to explain the whole situation to both Lestrade and Hopkins yet neither of them even fully understood it, though, they both knew it was safe to just trust Sherlock’s unique judgement. “Now, is that all? I have doctor’s orders to eat lunch today.” He wasn’t aware of it but John was smirking to himself when he heard him say that. It was true, John had told Sherlock that lunch was needed because for the last few weeks, may even months, Sherlock was getting up at midday and sometimes only having one meal per day. It was almost as if Sherlock was back to how he was when the two of them first met.

 

The place John chose for lunch was a small Greek café in Covent Garden; somewhere not too busy but then again, not absolutely silent either. Ever since their second kiss the previous night not another word was spoken either on a gender point of view or even relationship wise. Instead they went off doing their own things and slept in their own bedrooms apart from one another with Rosie up in John’s room. Luckily while out on cases Mrs Hudson was more than willing to look after the little girl as long as John promised to come back that night or warned her if a case dragged on into the late hours. It was only fair.

 

“I think I might just have soup,” mused Sherlock as they wandered on inside, choosing to find a table by the wall so they’d have a minute to themselves before a waiter came over to pester them. His plan was foiled, however, since as soon as they sat down a young woman rushed over with a bright smile, notepad at the ready.

“Hello, welcome! Is there anything I can get you? If you need more time just tell me,” yes she was eager, but she was friendly enough, especially in John’s opinion.

“No, no, now is fine,” John assured her, going on to order both his and Sherlock’s food as well as a pot of tea for them both to share.

 

Sherlock knew what was coming, he had been waiting all day for it to happen, honestly; John’s question. It was bound to happen here of all places. Away from home and yet in a relaxed atmosphere.

“Sherlock… What was your name before?”

That was a stab in the gut for the detective. He hadn’t experienced someone asking that question for years and he had forgotten how much it hurt to hear that. With a sharp glance up at John he decided to answer honestly…

“No. That’s the one question I refuse to answer.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.” John was taken back slightly, he didn’t expect for one of his questions to be shut down so quickly. He didn’t know any better, it wasn’t his fault. “Really, I am. Can I ask you something more suitable?”

He was reluctant at first but Sherlock shortly nodded in response.

“How long did you know?”

At least that was a question Sherlock could answer simply. “I’ve always known in my own way. Obviously when I was a child I didn’t know how to label anything and I didn’t know how I felt was a valid thing. I mentioned it to Mycroft when I was about twelve years old and…” He trailed off, actually _smiling_ while he spoke about his own brother. “... He helped me. He was the one to suggest the name ‘William’, actually. I stuck with it for a while but the name just didn’t suit me in the end.”

 

John listened contently as Sherlock gave his answer. It wasn’t what he expected but nonetheless, he was intrigued enough to want to know more. It felt like he was getting to know Sherlock all over again, reminding him of the careless days they had when they first met. “He actually helped you? I wouldn't have thought he was that caring, you know, with how hostile he can be with you.”

A small laugh came from Sherlock just as the waitress returned and set their food and drink down, softly smiling before leaving them to it. “He has his own way of caring,” he added.

 

Later that day they returned to Baker Street, John popping into Mrs Hudson's first to collect Rosie and bring her upstairs with him and Sherlock. She was held at his hip while Sherlock took his suit jacket off, throwing it over to the sofa so it was out of the way.  There was a quiet, domestic feel about everything in the room. Well, until Sherlock decided to speak up and honestly, what he said was rather unexpected given how calm everything was.

“Why do always insist that you’re not gay?”

“What?” Slightly annoyed that Sherlock suddenly brought this up, John put Rosie down on the floor so that she could play with her toys instead of having to be involved with whatever _this_  was.

“You heard what I asked John. If you insist on asking me questions, you should at least answer me about this.”

Rolling his eyes John sat down at the table, opening up his laptop instead of answering Sherlock straight away. The agonising silence that came to follow though soon edged John on to say something. “Look Sherlock, just because we, you know… yeah, that. Just because that happened does not mean I’m gay.”

“Sounds fake.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Sounds fake, I said,” repeated Sherlock, sitting down opposite John, arms crossed accompanied by a smug little smile. He knew he had a good point as childish as he made his reply appear.

“Sherlock, I’m not gay! For god sake, I have a daughter!” Again, another fair point put across, though Sherlock still quipped back without a moment to breathe;

“Okay then, you’re bisexual. You like women and you like men. No harm in that.”

Silence.

“I’m right, am I not?”

Silence.

“John. Look at me, John.” Up to this moment, John had been glaring angrily at his laptop’s log-in screen, too preoccupied to type in his password. Fortunately, though, he ended up doing as Sherlock asked, looking him straight in the eye - therefore, the detective continued with what he wanted to say. “Being bisexual is okay. Personally I can’t relate to it since, if you haven’t already gathered; women are not my type. But I understand that having a label that can make you feel like an outcast is...Off-putting. I even avoided it for years. I’d openly go around kissing boys and yet I never said I was gay since that could be another word people used against me. I was already being called all sorts and denying that one thing felt good. You asked me how long ago I felt that I was different; I’m asking you the same thing. When did you first realise you liked men and **please** for the love of god, do not say when you met me because you know full well when you entered St Bart's you had looked at another man the same way you looked at me that day.”

 

~

_“Come back to my tent while everyone else is eating, Captain; we have something that needs to be discussed.” Those were the words of Major Thompson, the man one rank above John himself. The pair of them always spoke privately… They shared so much privately and that night when John snuck into Thompson’s quarters, the two of them had never felt so alive despite literally working at death’s door every day._

~

 

“John?” Unaware that he had just slipped into a distant flashback in his mind, John suddenly snapped out of his glossy-eyed gaze and cleared his throat a little, not wanting his voice to crack as he replied to Sherlock.

“Since the Afghanistan.” Finally, an honest answer. “Don’t tell me you knew, though. Do _not_  say I told you so. Sherlock, I mean it. Please don’t.”

 

And he didn’t. He didn’t say another word. All he did was lean back in his chair, the realisation that they would both be opening up more slowly dawning upon him. Sherlock had a past hardly anyone knew about and by the looks of it, so did John.


End file.
